


Cemeteries And Train Tracks

by Sunshinecackle



Series: The Same Old Story [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Dubcon Kisses, Externalized homophobia, F slur, Gay, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rating for Language, Slash, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 07:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18048029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshinecackle/pseuds/Sunshinecackle
Summary: Firkle was weirder than Quaid thought, but apparently that didn’t turn him off of the goth as much as he thought it would.





	Cemeteries And Train Tracks

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this sitting around for a while, and finally thought to get it typed up. I’ve been doing Pomodoros with a group of writers for the Rick And Morty Big Bang, and I honestly love the idea of getting some writing done on a time limit so that I can actually do something. It’s been really good for my progress. I plan on finishing up things that need finished (typed from paper mostly) and then I will work more on my fic for the Big Bang. I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
>  **EDIT:** This is mega old. You can tell because I was talking about the RAM Big Bang that I ended up having to drop out of. x.x Sorry. I have eighteen fics to post and seventeen that need edited. If you’re someone that can edit for all kinds of fandoms, please message me. I really need some help.
> 
>  **Fandoms needed for betaing what I have so far:** Saw, Insidious, Insidious/Saw Crossover, Fallout 3, Heathers, Heathers/Dismissed Crossover, South Park/TheVVitch Crossover, Assassin's Creed, Kick-Ass, Left 4 Dead 2, Dragon Age and Until Dawn.

Assigned seating on field trips sucked. Quaid Small was stuck sitting next to Georgie Smith, naturally, which couldn’t have been worse. Fagkle was taking up as little space in the seat as possible, but every now and then he’d be jostled by a pothole into the jock. He wrote in a swirling script in a black, leatherbound notebook, head down and feet firmly planted on the floor.

 _Probably some faggy poetry._ Quaid thought bitterly, growling under his breath as Firkle was, once again, knocked into his arm.

“Watch it, fag.” Quaid snarled, shoving the goth nearly out of the seat.

“Trust me, I’d rather not touch a troglodyte like you if I had a choice.” Firkle bit back, shaking his head with a glare.

“What did you call me?!” 

“A troglodyte. An idiot savage.” The monotone almost made it worse.

“I oughta--”

The bus came to a full stop and Firkle instantly lifted his feet onto the seat.

“What the fuck are you--” Quaid squealed as Firkle reached over him and pressed his palm flat on the window. “What the _fuck_ , Dorkle?”

“I don’t need any more bad luck in my life.” Firkle responded dryly, only releasing the window and dropping his feet when the bus had fully crossed the train tracks.

“Bad luck? What, are you suspicious, too?” Quaid asked quizzically, trying to smooth his shirt and pretend like he hadn’t sounded like a frightened girl just minutes before.

“Superstitious. And yes, I am. I’m not ashamed. With all the weird shit that happens in South Park, I’m not taking any chances.”

“That’s stupid. I bet you throw salt and shit, too.”

“And try not to break mirrors, hold my breath when driving past a cemetery, take care not to to fall into graves. The black cat thing is a hoax, though.”

“God, you’re so _weird_.” But it was _almost_ cute. How dare Firkle infect him with gay thoughts. Quaid almost wanted to hit him, but Mr. Woodrow was maintaining eye contact, as if to tell him he had better not.

“Weird, maybe. But at least I won’t end up trapped in a graveyard.”

“I thought you liked that shit.”

“I would rather not have a ghost inhabiting my body.” 

“Fucking freak.”

“Don’t be such an asshole. You’re just pissed because you want to kiss me.” Firkle had noticed Quaid staring at his lips through most of their conversation. Quaid’s cheeks burned and he snarled all-too quickly. 

“Fuck off, no I don’t! That’s fucking gay.”

“Right, because you are the picture of heterosexuality.” Of course, he had to say it in the dull tone of his.

“I’m going to pound you.”

“Oh? I charge by the minute, so you’ll owe me three bucks.”

“Fucking _faggot_.” 

That didn’t stop Quaid from holding Firkle back after everyone had gone on, pinning him to the side of the bus. He held tight to Firkle’s scrawny neck, before surging forward and crushing their lips together. There was no care, no finesse, just the taking of what he wanted. When Firkle moaned, he leapt back like he’d been burned.

“F-fag, you’re fucking disgusting.” Quaid spat, wiping his mouth like he’d never be free of the taste of him.

“And your lips are purple.” Firkle replied, licking his lips, his lipstick smudged, “Loose lips sink ships. I won’t rat you out.” With that, Firkle was gone like a whisper, leaving Quaid with a raging war in his chest. Wiping his mouth again, he growled. Why had he liked that so much?

When he rejoined the group, he couldn’t look at Firkle without feeling something odd happening in his chest. Because of this, he stuck by Filmore like glue, constantly bitching about everything under the sun; everything but Firkle.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m glad I’m finally getting this typed up. xD It’s been a while since I wrote it. I hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> Prompt: **Superstitious** \- _Having or showing a belief in superstitions._


End file.
